


Bright Ideas

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: D/s, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has an idea, and Rumpelstiltskin agrees. Belle then sets about making sure he doesn’t regret that decision. (Smutfic, light dom/sub and male pegging)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Belle had had an idea.

Well, Rumpelstiltskin reasoned, Belle had talked with Ruby, and between them an idea had formed. Rumpelstiltskin was disinclined to credit Belle with the entirety of this particular idea, mostly because he enjoyed what innocence she had left. He knew that she was well read – very well read – but still.

She now stood before him, waiting for an answer. She held her hands clasped behind her back, shy embarrassment and expectation warming her face. 

“You want me to… take you literally from behind?” he clarified, delicately, and Belle flushed and looked at him from under her lashes. It was a very fetching look on her, he thought, naughty and a little bit ashamed. It was difficult not suggest that they continue this conversation naked and in their bedroom, but he didn’t think that’d lead anywhere productive.

It was an idea that, all things considered, he’d never been all that interested in pursuing. There seemed to be little for a woman to enjoy in that particular act, and he was more than satisfied with Belle’s other features.

Of course, if it was what Belle truly wanted he would go out and buy a tube of lubricant that moment and not voice a word of complaint. Belle would have whatever she wanted in the world, if it were in his power to provide: she’d more than earned that from him. But she didn’t seem to be leaping to agree with his assessment of the situation.

“Well, that was my first thought,” she admitted. Then her nose crunched up in that distasteful expression she wore so rarely, but that made him want to kiss the little tip. Everything she did made him want to kiss her, and it was a bit of a problem. “But to be honest, I didn’t really see the appeal. I mean… penetration is easier and just as fun elsewhere, right?” she continued, in a rush, blushing harder at that word. He felt his blood rush south at that word and all its implications wrapped in her sweet, melodious tones. “But then I remembered something else I read, and I’ve done some research… and Ruby says that a lot of men enjoy it… the other way around?”

Belle grew redder and redder, and was crimson by the time she came to her hesitant, tentative question. Rumpelstiltskin blanched, an anxious ball forming in his stomach. 

He didn’t answer her. He sat down, put his head in his hands to mask his expression, and waited for her to press further.

Belle dropped the subject with all her classic tact and diplomacy. She sat beside him, quietly, and in time somehow managed to draw her pale, shaking husband into a conversation about the library renovations. She didn’t mention it again after that either, more than happy to drop it in the face of his clear disinclination. For a while, Rumpelstiltskin was grateful for that, and was more than happy to let that particular idea die.

But, to his surprise, the more Rumpelstiltskin thought about it over the next few days, the more the idea appealed. Of course, anything Belle wanted to do he would give her, but this was a little different. This was something she wanted to do to him, not the other way around. In this it mattered that he did more than acquiesce, but actually wanted to go through with it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it, turning it over, and gradually the image began to burn in his brain. The thought of Belle on top of him, in charge in every way, pulling him apart in all the delicious ways she knew how, leaving him a whimpering, shaking, begging mess beneath her. She would then slowly, tenderly reassemble him once she’d taken all she wanted from him, of course, and leave him all the more in love with her. The images whirred in his mind for days, until Rumpelstiltskin found himself aching and desperate at the thought. He was no longer sure that his anxiety over the idea was a good enough reason not to give it a try.

They were on the sofa about a week later, each buried in their own books, when he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “So you want to… penetrate me?” he blurted, apropos of nothing, trying to be delicate and failing dramatically. Belle started, stunned, and turned to him, speechless for a moment. If she had any blood in her body not currently flooding to her face, he had no idea where it was. She blushed deep red, surprise and embarrassment warring for prevalence.

Belle gathered her composure at last, and cleared her throat. “If you… wanted me to?” she clarified. “I would completely understand if you didn’t, I really would, I just thought it might be, well, fun, I suppose. And there’s the whole prostate thing.”

“That there is,” he nodded, head spinning at how surreal this conversation felt. He still found himself unable to keep a fond smile off his face at her adorable rambling. “Okay, yes, we’ll try this,” he heard himself say. “Anything you want.”

“Please don’t just do this for me,” she all but begged. “I don’t want to make you do something uncomfortable just for my sake.”

“My Belle,” he replied, and leaned closer, cupped her cheek in his fingers and kissed her. “I would kneel naked on broken glass if you asked me to. I can probably stretch to letting you fuck me.”

Her pupils dilated, her lips parting in a small gasp. He understood why: phrased like that, it sounded rough, dirty… possessive. Like he would belong to her then, like she’d be able to claim him truly and wholly as hers. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing shortening as she too had the same thought. “I want to,” she admitted, her eyes wide and dark, her voice rough and husky as he had rarely heard it. “I really want to.”

“Then you shall,” he promised, and leaned back, spreading his arms wide. “My body is yours to command.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice low and throaty. “I know.”

He swallowed then, hard, the lust in her voice palpable. She was looking at him as if she wanted to eat him alive, and Rumpelstiltskin was more than happy to let her.

Two weeks later, on the morning of the day they’d set aside to try this wonderful but also terrible idea, Rumpelstiltskin found himself far less sanguine. He stood with his hands shaking on the knot in his tie, his eyes darting every few seconds to the bedside drawer. Inside lay the modest, sleek black strap-on that had arrived a week ago from a very discreet, expensive shop in New York. The strap-on with which, in twelve hours’ time, his wife would do filthy, wonderful things to him.

Rumpelstiltskin was excited. Rumpelstiltskin was going to have a panic attack long before the day was done.

His anxious mind was already whirring away, imaging how horribly this could go wrong. He never could quite predict when the trauma inflicted by Zelena’s cruel domination of him would resurface. Even despite the dagger’s connection to him having been severed, and it being Belle in charge this time… well, he still didn’t know how well his body would react to the invasion. If he panicked, if he hurt her in any way at all, he would never forgive himself. 

“Well, doesn’t someone look handsome today?” A familiar, soft and feminine voice came from behind him, jolting him out of his miserable thoughts. Belle’s arms wound their way around his waist, her hands splaying on his torso, one resting over his heart. Her chin perched on his shoulder, height aided by her high heels, and he could see her smiling face in the mirror. 

“You’re too kind,” he murmured, and she gave that throaty chuckle he loved so much.

“No, I just have excellent taste,” she replied. “I’m so lucky to have such a handsome husband.” She pressed her lips to the sensitive places under his jaw. “I’m so lucky, you’re all mine,” she purred into his ear, and nipped at his earlobe. “Aren’t you, Rumple?”

He swallowed hard, and tried not to get hard at her words. He had to go to work after all; he had to go out in public in this state. “Yes, Belle,” he rasped, and she gave a wicked little laugh and kissed his cheek.

“So good for me,” she grinned, “Are you looking forward to tonight?” He swallowed and tried to nod, but already the part of his brain that was enthralled by her had taken hold, and it was hard to lie. He was excited, yes, but he was also a nervous wreck. 

He let it show, in the spirit of honesty, and her face creased with concern. “Oh, my poor nervous darling,” she cooed, sympathetic and kind as always she was, and one of her hands left his chest to pet his hair instead. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ll take such good care of you. I always do, don’t I? You can trust me. I’ll look after you, I’ll make it so good for you, I promise.”

“You’d never hurt me,” he breathed, knowing every word was true, letting himself relax in her arms. This was Belle, he thought, Belle who loved him, who would never lie to him. They’d worked so hard to rebuild their relationship after all their mistakes and accidental wounds. They’d worked to strengthen their marriage, to return to that state of utter trust and love, and she had never once stumbled on that road. He was with his loving, kind, perfect wife, whom he could trust with his soul. There was nothing here to fear here, nothing at all. “I love you,” he told her, with utter sincerity. “So much.”

“I love you too,” she promised, “Always and forever. My Rumple.” She kissed him again, and nibbled his jaw. “We’re going to have fun tonight, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Belle,” he breathed. She nodded, and turned his head to give him a sloppy, messy, sideways-on kiss. 

“You’re all mine,” she told him, and he nodded, already under her spell.

“All yours,” he agreed. “Always, forever.”

“Good,” she breathed, composure giving way to passion in an instant. “Because I’m yours too. Forever.”

He turned then, and kissed her properly, deeply, devotedly. When they parted she beamed at him, and then made him jump as she slid her hands down his back and cheekily squeezed both cheeks of his arse in his trousers. “Now go to work,” she said, “And think about how wonderful I’m going to make you feel when you get home.”

“God, yes,” he replied, and tried to kiss her again, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips and giggled.

“Tonight,” she promised, “you can kiss me as much as you want tonight, anywhere you want, I promise.”

“Thank you, Belle,” he smiled in relief, knowing exactly what she was doing and never more grateful for it. His Belle was so clever, she knew exactly how to shut down the anxious, suspicious, nervous parts of him and remind him to trust her, to let her take the lead. He was safe in her hands, and it was wonderful to let go of the reins for a while and just enjoy the ride.

Unfortunately, Belle didn’t let up while he was at work. As if knowing exactly when his anxiety was set to rise and engulf him again, she texted him at constant, strategic intervals through the day.

First it was simple, an ‘are you alright?’ at ten, and an ‘I love you’ half an hour later. Then, as if she knew that innocent reassurance wouldn’t halt the typhoon in his head, they started becoming dirtier. ‘I’m going to have such fun with you tonight,’ she texted at half-past eleven, which made him have to sit down in the back for a few minutes. It didn’t seem to matter that he was at work, or that he didn’t text back: his wife was as unrelenting as she was wicked.

‘You can touch yourself’ she continued, just five minutes later. ‘Go in the back, and think about me claiming you tonight.’

He did cup himself at that, a little squeeze to take the edge off. A few minutes later, she asked a direct question, ‘Did you do as I asked?’

‘Yes, sweetheart.’ He texted back, as if incapable of ignoring her implied command to answer. 

She replied immediately. ‘Such a good boy.’ She praised, and then went right in for a direct attack on his higher brain function.  ‘I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.’

At that he had to squeeze even harder, ruthlessly trying to shut down the physical response to those words. 

The rest of the day continued in that way. Belle sent a stream of lovely and utterly filthy messages, simultaneously working his heart and his cock to turmoil with her words.

She only arrived in in person at the end of the day, her smile wide and innocent, but her eyes hooded and dark. “You’re a cruel mistress,” he greeted her, with a strained but genuine smile. 

She did a silly little curtsey in her sweet blue dress. He chuckled at how adorable his little wife could be, even while driving him to breaking point. Then, pressing her advantage, she leaned over the counter and distracted him with her cleavage while her little hand caught hold of his tie. She dragged him toward her and kissing him with such deep, hot, dark intensity his knees almost gave out. 

“I know,” she breathed when they parted, her lips swollen and wet, her breath coming hot and heavy. “You love it.”

“That I do,” he agreed, and she bit his lip, tugging him back to kiss her again. His hands bracketed her head, fisting in her hair, and she moaned when he tugged a little, plundering his mouth with her tongue.

Then she wrenched away from him, and stepped back. She smirked at the stunned expression on his face, his mouth swollen and stained with her bright cherry-red lipstick, his hair tangled from her hands, his eyes dark and bleary with arousal. “You’re so gorgeous like this,” she told him, her voice low and warm, sweet and dark. “You look ready to be fucked out here and now.”

The noise he made was strangled and only half-human, but he nodded, the aching of his hard cock hard to deny. If she chose to bend him over the counter and take him with that strap-on there and then, he wasn’t sure he’d object. 

“Such a good boy,” she crooned, stepping closer once again, but he knew better than to reach for her while she was calling the shots. “So good for me.” She reached out and played with his hair, and he leaned in to press his cheek to her palm. “What am I to you right now, my Rumple?”

He knew what he wanted to say, and it surprised him. He had worried, how he had worried, that acknowledging her control over him would trigger the memories of his time in the cage. He knew Belle would worry about the same: that was why she was asking the question. It was to give him the chance to shut down her game, to pull back, without having to confront the issue head-on. 

Yet now that he was here, he realised that he wasn’t invoking those memories at all: he was replacing them with new ones, better ones. Now, when he thought of submission, it would be to Belle’s delicious care, and not to Zelena’s cruelty. The thought brought a dopey smile to his face, and he had no qualms about saying what he did next.

“My mistress,” he rasped, his decision made, and she grinned, delighted. 

“And do you want to make your mistress happy, Rumple?” she asked, and he nodded feverishly, wanting nothing more. She had, by some twisted magic all her own, managed to shut off the parts of his brain capable of thinking of anything but Belle: kissing Belle, pleasing Belle, or sex with Belle. She was a wonderful creature, and he was so very, very lucky she had chosen him, that she loved him. Luckier still that she had survived everything they’d been through, and that she had come out the other side still smiling, and still willing to tease him into a frenzy then screw him senseless.

“Okay, then I want you to go back into the back room, and work yourself with your hand,” she said. “There are some interesting pictures on your phone now.” She smiled, pressing a button on her own phone, and sure enough there went his ring tone, a new message having come through. “I want you to look at them, and work yourself almost to completion, thinking only of me.”

“Almost?” he groaned, and she bit her lip around a smile and nodded.

“I want you to stop at just the right moment, then call me,” she ordered. “I’m going back outside, but I’ll have my phone on. Then I’ll tell you what to do.”

“Oh, Gods above,” he whined, but he nodded, seeing the genuine question in her eyes. She would never push him further than he wanted to go, and that made it easier to cross those boundaries, to let her do as she would with him. Belle always gave him a choice, and never even dreamed of forcing him into anything at all. That was why he could trust her with this: Rumpelstiltskin trusted wisdom far further than innocence. Belle had removed his will before with the dagger, when she’d felt she had no other option. Rumpelstiltskin knew she regretted it so deeply now, that she’d never do it again in a million years.

“Good boy,” she praised, then stepped back, and gestured to the back room. “Off you go,” she prompted, and he nodded, turning his back with reluctance and heading to the back room. He heard her heels clack on the hard floor as she bounced back to the door, and heard it open and close on her way out. 

A glance in her direction showed she had, thankfully, turned the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. They toyed with deviancy, he thought, but they never crossed the line to actual public indecency.

He sat himself down on the back room cot, and with shaking fingers opened up the text messages Belle had sent him. First came a close-up of her naked breasts, then a wider shot, showing her entire chest and a good portion of her side. He stared at those for a good few minutes. The fact he could see the real thing whenever he wanted only seemed to make it feel more illicit and dirty to be looking at photos of his wife on his little phone screen, his cock in his hand in the dark back room. It felt deviant, pornographic, and it sent the blood rushing even faster south.

Finally, and best of all were a few shots she must have taken a few months ago. One very memorable night, she had met him in their bedroom wearing only his jacket, tie,  and her high ‘fuck-me’ black heels. She’d finished the ensemble with black thigh-high stockings, and some lacy black lingerie. He’d all but thrown her to the bed the moment he laid eyes on her, and he’d ravished her for hours.

The last picture saw the handle of his cane tellingly lodged inside her knickers, while her face showed a pleasurable, slack-jawed smile he knew all too well. He hadn’t known she’d done that, and the possibilities were mind-blowing. Rumpelstiltskin was sure his cock couldn’t get harder, but he worked it as she had commanded anyway. He pumped and squeezed until, with that picture with the cane still present on his phone and in his mind, he grit his teeth and felt the brink approach.

Then he called her.

“Did you do it?” she asked, breathless with excitement, and he had to swallow hard before he could reply.

“I did,” he confirmed, “mistress. What now?”

“Now,” she purred, “You come home, you go to our bedroom, and you strip yourself naked and get on the bed.”

“Belle,” he groaned, agonised. “I won’t make it home.”

She giggled at that, and made a soft, reassuring noise. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say you had to walk or drive. I’m outside in the Cadillac. You just have to get in, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I love you,” he groaned.

“I know,” she snickered. “I love you too. Now get in the car.”

He rose to his feet, grabbed his – apparently adulterated – cane, and staggered for the exit. Sure enough, there was his car, his unapologetic and wonderful wife in the driver’s seat. She even opened the door for him, so he only had to hurl his shaking, aching body inside and slam it closed.

“Oh, my poor, desperate love,” Belle cooed with sympathy. She pressed a hot little hand to the straining front of his slacks, kissing away his groan of agony and ecstasy. “I need you to hold on for me, okay?” she breathed, “I need you not to come until I say. Can you do that?”

“Yes Belle,” he mumbled, in a rush, and she kissed his lips in thanks, and started the car.

When they got home, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t say he remembered the drive back. The next thing he knew was Belle, stood at his open car door, taking hold of his tie again and drawing him out of the car, and up the path. He followed like a lost puppy, like a sinner drawn to the light, a dying man to salvation. She was his mistress; he belonged to her with all his soul. He would die if she didn’t take pity on him soon.

But there was something bigger coming, he knew, something that made all of this make sense. He had to be in this position, desperate and submissive and begging, for this to work, for him not to spook and panic. He knew that, and knowing it relaxed him against her gentle, inexorable pull into the house. Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself to be lead by his tie through the hallway and up the stairs.

“Now then,” Belle purred, when they reached the bedroom. “I believe you have work to do.”

He nodded dumbly, and she pulled him closer into the room, closing the door behind them. He pulled the tie off first, and she winked at him as he handed it over, and wound it around her own throat. “Did you like the pictures, Rumple?” she flirted, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he panted, “Oh Gods yes.”

“Good,” she smiled, as he shucked off his jacket and handed it to her as well. She took it from him, and then, with wondrous one-handed dexterity, unzipped the side of her dress and pulled it off over her head. His mind stuttered to a halt at all of that soft, creamy, delicious skin laid out before him. She wore only his favourite blue lacy lingerie set, and he wanted to spread her out beneath him and taste every inch of her.

But he’d been given a command, a command he remembered the moment she pulled his jacket on, and straightened his tie about her throat. He finished the row of buttons down his shirt in minutes, and threw it blindly across the room. His pants and underwear hit the floor in seconds. 

He’d forgotten to take off his shoes. Belle giggled at the ridiculous sight of him standing there in nothing but socks and expensive Italian loafers.

“Poor, overcome sweetheart,” she cooed, and pushed him back to the bed, encouraging him to sit. Then she did the unthinkable: she sank to her knees between his legs, and took one of his shoe-clad feet in her lap. She gently, caressingly, untied his laces, and removed both shoe and sock. She stroked his foot, his instep and his mangled ankle, sympathy and pain crossing her beautiful face as she kissed the reddened skin. 

“Please, Belle,” he begged. She nodded, understanding his urgency, and removed his other shoe faster than the first.

“Come on, then,” she urged, “hands and knees.” He scrambled into position, knowing what was to come next no longer fearing it. He was hers: she had seen his darkness and light, weakness and strength, hate and love, and she wanted him anyway. She loved him anyway. He wanted to belong to her, to have her claim and possess him in every way imaginable, and he wanted it now.

“Hmm,” she hummed, surveying him, and he shuddered in anticipation, her gaze raking over him like a physical touch. Belle nodded to herself, and took the largest, softest pillow they had from her side of the bed, sliding it under his hips. “Okay, you can lie down now,” she told him. She then patted his rump in encouragement, which opened whole new doors in his brain. The thought of being spanked had never appealed until that very moment, when it suddenly became very, very relevant.

She seemed to notice that, and she snickered. “Maybe next time,” she said. He nodded, groaning as his straining erection was sandwiched between his body and the bed.

In this position his ass was raised enough for Belle to straddle it, but not enough to put any weight on his bad ankle. He loved her so much he could burst.

“Are you ready?” she checked, one last time, and he nodded.

“Yes, mistress, Gods, please, yes,” he burbled. Belle chuckled at his enthusiasm.

“Good,” she groaned. “Because so am I.” 

She slipped off her panties and strode to his end of the bed. Belle slammed his brain to a halt by slipping a finger between her legs, and showing the glistening fluid to him. She placed the finger to his lips, and he sucked it inside gratefully, lapping her copious juices from the digit. “I’m so wet for you, Rumple,” she teased. “I’m so ready.”

The struggle to obey her, to not come without permission, grew ever harder. She tasted like honey and musk and Belle, and it was all he could do not to grab her by her hips and bury his face between her thighs. 

It got even worse when she opened that bedside drawer, and at last pulled out the long, sleek, black strap-on and leather harness. She had clearly been practicing. He watched in awe as she pulled it on and fastened it with ease, and then squirted a large blob of lubricant into her palm. She worked it onto the silicone in slow strokes, and his jaw fell slack. He watched in awe as  Belle jerked herself – or rather a strap-on bobbing between her legs – off, while dressed only in his suit and tie, lingerie and stiletto heels. It was a kink Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t known he had, much less could indulge. 

It was the most erotic thing he’d seen in his entire life.

“Ask me,” she commanded, as she kicked off her heels and at last got onto the bed, straddling his hips with her knees. Her fingers parted his cheeks and probed his entrance, and he bucked and whined at the odd feeling. Her fingers were slippery, doused as they were in lubricant, but still she waited. For permission, he thought with a rush of relief. The ability to say no even now empowered him to say yes.

“Please, Belle,” he sighed. “Please, please fuck me, please fuck me hard.“

“Such a good boy,” she purred. His eyes fluttered closed, then slammed open again as her slick fingers finally breached him, one and then a second close behind. She slid them in with ease before twisting a little, making a strange scissoring motion. Loosening him, he realised: easing the dildo’s way in.

Two fingers inside made him feel oddly full, as if he had been empty before and not known it. She worked her fingers inside him cautiously for a few moments longer, before another finger joined the first two, and they crooked. Molten fire was crashed through him, intense pleasure ripping a cry from his lips, and he jerked beneath her. “Rumple?” she checked, alarmed, and was met with helpless, heavy breathing.

“Do that again,” he begged, when he could speak, “Oh, gods, do that again.”

“Oh, good,” she breathed in relief, and did just that. Rumpelstiltskin howled as she all but stroked his prostate, still stretching him. She continued thus until a fourth finger twisted inside at last satisfied her that he was ready.

“Gonna come,” he panted, “If you… if you keep that up.”

“Does that feel good?” she teased, pulling her fingers out completely, making him groan at the loss of pressure back there that he’d only just gotten used to. The sense of fullness alone was good, but the brushes to his prostate had sent him flying. It was almost better than having her mouth on his cock, and that was really saying something.

“Yes, mistress,” he moaned, “yes it does, thank you, mistress.”

“Good boy,” she praised him. “Hold out for me just a while longer, okay? Just a few minutes more. Don’t come just yet.”

“Trying, mistress,” he promised, and he heard her smile in her voice.

“I know you are, I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so, so well,” she promised him. He tingled all over in pleasure at her praise.

Then he felt something harder and firmer but not much larger than her fingers pressed to his entrance. He groaned, low and long in his throat, as she worked the dildo inside him, sliding forward until her hips were flush with his. She slid her hands up his back to hold his shoulders, her mouth at his ear, and the sense of fullness, of completion, was so exquisite it was almost painful. “You’re mine,” she growled, lust and love equal and rough in her voice. She bit his shoulder and sucked as she slid back, and rammed back in. He howled, the dildo brushing his prostate, and she grinned against his skin and lapped at his bite-mark.

“Is that good?” she grunted, as she pulled out again, slowly, and then slid back in, making him yelp again, and tremble all over.  She stopped and waited for a response.

“Yes, mistress, Gods, yes,” he managed, and she smiled, and did it again, making him cry out. “Harder!” he begged, “Faster, please!”

She picked up the pace at his request, setting a hard, fast rhythm that glanced his prostate just enough to keep him on edge, but not enough to force him over. “Do you like this, Rumpelstiltskin?” she teased. Her mouth left stinging, wonderful love-bites down his neck and across his shoulder. “Do you like having me fuck you like this?”

“Yes, yes yes yes yes,” he panted, “Yes, mistress, I love having you fuck me!”

“Good,” she growled, punctuating every other word with a thrust inside. “Because you’re mine, all mine, my good boy, my husband, all mine. You’re so beautiful like this, wild and desperate and fucked-out, all for me. I love you so much, and you’re mine.”

“Yes!” he cried, “Gods, yes, I’m yours, I’m all yours!” he was sobbing, whimpering, desperate and wound tight beyond belief, only her command keeping him from coming there and then. Her hot little hand slid down to his hips, around and underneath, finding his straining cock and taking it in her hand. She started to work it in time with her hard, fast thrusts, and he whimpered and moaned and cried out. A litany of filth and praise, begging and screaming, fell from his lips. He was so far gone he could hardly remember his name, his life, anything but Belle and her wonderful fake cock and her hand on him, all over him, working him from both ends until there was nothing left but her.

“Come for me then, my good boy,” she purred, right into his ear. “You can do it now, come hard, and come now,” she punctuated this last with a hard, fast slam inside him, hitting his prostate by pure fortune.  Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help himself: he came as hard as she’d asked, spilling himself all over the pillow and their sheets.

“Belle,” he groaned, as the hardest, longest orgasm of his life tore through him, sending him reeling, and jerking in her arms his eyes seeing stars, his head spinning, the climax ripping him apart and reforming him in the same moment, until he thought he would black out from it. He spurted all over the sheets, his hips bucking uncontrollably, his head thrown back in rapture. “Belle…” 

“Shhh,” she soothed, petting his hair. She eased him onto his side, sliding the dildo out of him at long last, leaving him empty and satiated, fucked raw and spent. She spooned up behind him, one hand over his racing heart, the other stroking his hair back. “There we go,” she crooned. “My good boy, so good for me, you did so well, I’m so proud of you, you’re so wonderful, I love you so much.” She continued to murmur sweet nothings and nonsense praise, easing him down from his high, letting him settle and come back to earth. 

He was about to slide into unconsciousness, lulled by her voice and her arms around him. But something was nagging at him, something important. “Belle?” he mumbled, and she squeezed him tight, her front to his back.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she asked, warmly, so much love in her voice he thought he might die from it.

“Did you…” his mouth was slack, lazy, not forming words properly. “Did you come too?”

“No,” she told him, but she didn’t sound upset, “But that’s okay, today was for you, remember?”

“N-no,” he objected, turning to face her. “S’not right, you should… you should too.”

“Sleep now,” she soothed, “you can sort that out when you wake up, okay? For now you need sleep, my good boy, you did so very well for me and I’m so, so happy.”

“Really?” he asked, eyes closed with her praise and her command, smiling. “You’re happy?”

“You’re wonderful, and you’re mine, and I’m yours,” she reminded him, pulling a blanket over them both. “And I love you so, so much. How could I not be happy?”

Unable to deny that logic in his numb, satiated state, Rumpelstiltskin accepted her words. He snuggled back into her arms, under the blanket, and slid easily into sleep.

He didn’t wake up for another three hours. When he did, he was happier than he’d been in a long time. He awoke after the best nap of his life, fully conscious and returned to himself, and with his beautiful, naked and devoted wife curled up behind him. 

His wife who had given him the best orgasm of his life, and yet had gone without being seen to herself. Rumpelstiltskin had been too tired and dazed to do anything to remedy that before, but now he was more alive and awake than he’d been in weeks. And he owed her several mind-blowing orgasms for the day he’d just been treated to.

Already ideas were forming as to how to repay her, and he grinned to himself.

“Rumple?” Belle murmured, woken by his movements as he pulled himself upright in the bed. “Everything okay?”

“Not quite everything, no,” he murmured. He smiled down at her with more adoration than he had previously thought himself capable of. “There’s still a few important matters to attend to.”

Belle frowned in confusion, and started to ask what in the world he could mean. She then cried out in happy surprise, as he flipped her onto her back, and kissed the tip of her nose and her lush, smiling lips. He then set about dragging himself down her body, divesting her of clothing as he went, leaving hot, wet kisses to every new patch of skin. 

By the time he reached his destination, she was naked and panting beneath him, and Belle beamed down at him, her hand nestled in his hair. He kissed her wrist with a broad smile. Belle then screamed as he buried his face between her thighs, and set to work thanking her. 

Over, and over, and over again.


	2. Chapter 2

The night started gently enough. 

Belle came home later than usual from the library, and kicked her heels off with a little more force than usual. Rumpelstiltskin came out of the kitchen at the sound, and Belle came willingly into the hug he offered. “Bad day, sweetheart?” he murmured into her soft, fragrant hair, and she nodded.

“Library’s gone to hell since I left,” she told him, her face pressed to his cheek as he cradled her close, adoring as always the warm feel of her in his arms.

“You’ll sort it out,” he promised her, stroking her soft curls, tangling them around his fingers and kissing the top of her head, his other hand splayed on her lower back. “You’re infinitely capable, my Belle.”

“You’re wonderful,” she murmured to him, and then stepped back with a sigh. Only then did she notice his similarly drawn appearance, the shadows under his eyes that denoted how poorly he’d slept, and how hard a day he too had had. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing much better.”

“I’ll survive, he shrugged, stiffly. “I made us dinner, if you’re hungry?”

“Dinner sounds lovely, Rumple,” she took his arm, and they walked to the dinner table together. Rumpelstiltskin poured his wife a glass of wine as she sat down, and she giggled warmly at his chivalry. “Such a gentleman, my husband.”

He didn’t have to tell her that it was no trouble, that he liked making her happy, that serving her relaxed him, in an odd way. No one in town trusted him, even knowing as they did that he was no longer the Dark One, and some days it was harder to take than others. His skin had never been particularly thick without the demon’s insensitivity taking the blows, and it was honestly just nice to have someone appreciate him, for all that sounded utterly pathetic.

He came back from the kitchen with two steaming plates of lasagne, and Belle laughed again, “Still trying to out-do Granny, then?”

“I’m a better chef with one arm behind my back than she is on her best day,” he grumbled, but her smile brought one of his own to his lips. He sat down across from her, and she bumped their knees together affectionately under the table.

“You are,” she agreed, “but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Her lasagne’s frozen, you know,” he told her, conversationally. She barely heard him: she’d taken the first bite, and her eyes had closed with bliss. He felt warmth rush through him, his troubles lifted at this simple reminder of how well he could look after her, how happy he could make her now without his curse. He missed the power, the abilities, the invulnerability, of course he did. But he’d never made Belle even a fraction as happy then as he could now. 

He worried about her, too: he knew how her appetite vanished when she was anxious or stressed, and she’d lost a scary amount of weight when he was comatose from fretting over him. He felt he owed it to her to make that up now, to make sure she was healthy and happy and relaxed in their home.

“This is heaven in a plate,” she murmured, swallowing at last. “You’re right, yours is better. But you were tired and stressed today too, so you shouldn’t have worn yourself out making it when we could have ordered in.”

“I enjoy cooking,” he assured her, for the hundredth time, with an indulgent smile. “I like knowing what’s gone into my food, I like the process and the method, and I like the experimentation.”

“As long as you’re not wearing yourself out for my sake,” she sighed, still a little troubled, and he shook his head and kissed her hand because he couldn’t possibly love her more.

“I also get to see the ecstatic face you make when the food’s good,” he teased, taking a bite of his own meal. She was right: it was excellent, and he smiled to himself for this small victory. “I only ever see it one other time, and then I’m usually too distracted to notice.”

Belle snorted into her wine at that, laughing and choking, and he had to thump her back before she could breathe again. She was still laughing then, even if it was a little hoarse. “Shut up and eat your dinner,” she ordered, grinning, and he inclined his head.

“As my mistress commands,” he teased back, and she flushed bright red and went back to her meal. 

The evening continued that way, soft and warm, each doing all they could to relax and cheer the other. They did the washing up together, for all Rumpelstiltskin insisted he could do it alone, and when the pans had been left to soak and they’d finished the bottle of wine between them, they retired to the living room to relax for a while.

They ended up sprawled on the sofa, Belle’s head on Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder, a book on both of their laps, reading happily in silence. “Rumple?” Belle asked, softly, breaking their silence. Rumpelstiltskin looked up from his book with a smile.

“Yes, Belle?”

“Could you teach me to cook, one of these days?” she asked. Rumpelstiltskin frowned.

“But if you could cook for yourself, what would you need me for?” he teased, and she elbowed him softly in the ribs. 

“I want to cook for you, silly,” she clarified. “You make me so happy when you do things like that, I just want to return the favour.”

“But doing things like that for you  _is_  what makes me happy,” he told her. “I love that I can make you happy now, without messing it up two seconds later. It feels like making up for all the pain I caused you before.”

“Hey,” Belle turned to face him, drawing one knee up and sitting on her foot, frowning. Her hands petted and stroked his hair, playing with the strands. “You still worry about that? Rumple, that wasn’t you. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“I still did,” he reminded her. “Even when I was trying not to, and you deserved better than that. It makes me feel better to make you happy now, to try to bring you all the joy you deserve. Even if you don’t feel you need it, I do.”

“Okay,” she nodded, his perfect, understanding wife. “Okay, but you have to let me look after you too, you know. You know how much we both enjoy it when I look after you.”

He shivered all over at that, at her words and her hands in his hair, and her voice, heavy and ripe with implication. Her brand of looking after him involved turning him into a helpless, adoring mess with her hands and her mouth and her kind, wonderful, filthy words, until he begged her to possess him utterly. Just the memory of half of what she could do to him made his eyes flutter closed and his breathing stagger.

“Yes, Belle,” he murmured, and she snorted softly, fondly, and kissed him deeply.

“What do you need, darling?” she asked him, and he swallowed, hard.

“Could you pass me my scotch?” he asked her, hoarsely, “My mouth is suddenly very dry.”

She grinned at that, wicked and warm all at once, and nodded, reaching behind her for his drink. She made to hand it to him, and then paused, regarding his slack-lipped mouth and wide, dark eyes with dark curiosity.

Slowly, gently, she brought the glass to his lips. He parted them slowly, accepting the glass, and she watched with flushed cheeks and darkening eyes as she tipped it slowly, pouring just a little into his mouth. He accepted it, swallowing hard, knowing if she chose she could choke him, knowing this was an act of deep, implicit trust, and totally relaxed in her care.

“My Rumple,” she murmured, her voice low and husky with desire, as she took the glass away from his mouth and set it on the table beside him. He shuddered all over as she wrapped herself around him, stroking his hair back, kissing his temple, “All mine.”

“Yes, mistress.”


End file.
